Inside Scoop
by riverswan
Summary: Bella Swan is a girl trying to make it in a guy's world. A sports journalist in her dream job, if only she didn't hate star hockey player Edward Cullen.


Inside scoop

The screams of the crowd are pretty deafening, but it's something I have learned to tune out. I continue writing notes in my pad while jotting down potential questions to ask on another piece of paper. The screams die down then and an eerie hush comes over the vast room. The room seems to take a collective deep breath and hold it as the player strides up to the line with confidence and gets ready to take his shot. Finally he throws the ball and it arches perfectly into the hoop.

The whole room erupts in cheers as the buzzer sounds out, signalling the game is over. I smile to myself. I could have predicted Johnson would pull it out of the bag in the final few seconds. I had spent way too much time on the sidelines of games or matches like this. Basketball, baseball, football, boxing, soccer. You name it I've been there.

I've probably spent hours, days even if you add it all up, watching the plays, absorbing the atmosphere, feeling the agony when a team just can't do anything right and riding the high when a team is on fire. This comes from having a dad who is totally sport obsessed and always wanted a boy to share his obsession. You know, have guy bonding time going to little league games and watching Saturday games on the sofa while cheering and yelling at the TV in frustration. Unfortunately with me he missed out on shaping his own little sports star, I am so not co-ordinated enough to play sport. I can barely put one foot in front of the other to walk, let along run across a pitch or wield a racket and attempt to aim at a ball.

Nope, Charlie really missed out on the whole little league cheering from the sidelines with all the other parents stuff. However, he did manage to get me just as hooked on sports as him. It was the one time we could sit down together and I actually felt connected to him as a daughter. We could chat about tactics we thought were good, share frustration when umpires made what was clearly the wrong call and high five when a good game ended the way we wanted it to.

So, this passion carried on as I grew up and Charlie could not have been more delighted when I became a sports journalist. I swear when I called him to give him the good news that I had the job with the Seattle Tribune he screamed louder than if he had actually been there when Joe Namath led the New York Jets to victory at the '69 Super Bowl.

People are shocked when I tell them what I do. They assume I must be a photographer when I say I work on the sports desk, or at worst they think I am the assistant. None can believe my sporting knowledge could possibly be extensive enough to cope with actually covering games and then writing informative reports on them. I was a girl, surely my only experience of sport was cracking out the Buds and serving the boys while they yelled at the TV and patted me on the ass with a "thanks honey".

Sexism was something I had gotten used to in the first year of my job. In fact I barely noticed it anymore, nothing shocked me now. Whether it be players, managers, coaches or sporting pundits, whoever I approached for interview or comment on games could not take me seriously. Sure there was the odd guy who actually didn't seem surprised and just got through the interview as normally as they would do with another man. But they were few and far between. I don't mean that my interviewees would be hostile with me, no that was just the worst of them and they were few and far between thankfully. No, it was just that everyone had to draw attention to the fact I am a woman. I complain about it to Charlie, but he tells me to accept it.

"You're in a man's world Bells," he says. "Best to stand up straight, look 'em in the eye and dazzle them with your knowledge and professionalism. You could beat most guys hands down in a quiz on Super Bowl's best moments. Don't let it get to you."

I always roll my eyes, as he can't see me through the phone. "Sure dad, you're right. So did you catch that baseball game last night?"

If you ever want Charlie to drop a subject, the best route to go down is bringing up something to do with a game. That's the best thing about Charlie, he doesn't hover over an issue and pick at it for hours. Unlike my mom, Renee.

I grew up with Charlie after mom got married to Phil, a minor league baseball player, and went on the road with him. Forks might be a little town, but I actually had a decent time there for my final two years of high school. Plus having Phil in my life actually helped when it came to scoring my first job, as I had gotten so much experience following his team around and getting inspiration for my sports blog. Renee couldn't hide her disappointment that I went into a sporting inspired career and left her totally outnumbered. I think she hoped I would be a fashion designer or something, but that's an area I left to my best friend Alice.

We met in Forks in high school. On my first day I was so nervous and just wanted to be invisible. Unfortunately the red truck Charlie had got for me did not allow me to be so inconspicuous. The whole student body seemed to stare at me as a walked from this fossil of a vehicle. People were friendly enough, but it wasn't until Alice sat next to me in biology.

I couldn't believe anyone could smile as much as her.

"Hi, you're Bella, right?" she asked, that wide smile showing off her perfect set of teeth. "I'm Alice, Alice Masen."

"Good to meet you I side," smiling back.

"So, was that your red truck outside I saw earlier?" she asked with a frown.

"Um, yeah. My dad got it for me. I kind of like it actually, it has character." I had to defend the truck, I actually really loved it.

"I didn't think of it that way, it's like vintage. I love vintage!" she said with another wide smile. "We should totally do a makeover on you to match you truck, get the full vintage look. I know all the best stores in Port Angeles, we could go there today after school."

Although I never did let her do that makeover, we have been firm friends ever since. I do allow her the occasional say on my wardrobe, as it is her expert area after all and her good eye for fashion has served me well for years. Heck, it's served her well too. She now works as a personal shopper for hire in Seattle. Her client list is bursting with people.

I was so thrilled when she got the job in Seattle. After high school I studied journalism in California and she headed to New York to study fashion.

Thankfully, we both got jobs in the same city at the end of it all, which was a relief because I had missed my best friend, even though I made some great new ones at university. It just wasn't the same without her with me.

In fact, thinking of Alice, I had better get these interviews over with quick or she'll be making me do a forfeit at the bar for being late.

So, back to the game. Now it's wrapped up I get my things together in my typical haphazard fashion. I drop my pen as I try to gather my notes together in one pile and as I bend down to pick it up I knock my bag off my lap, spilling its contents on the floor. Then as I finally get all things righted, I stand up and knock over the water bottle I had forgotten all about after putting it down by my foot. Luckily the cap was on. I roll my eyes at my own clumsiness, though these days I don't allow myself to get so self-conscious about it. My name is Bella Swan, and I am vertically challenged. If it's a surface, I will find a way to fall over it. If you think it's funny, great, laugh away. I've given plenty of people laughs, so much so I don't let it bother me anymore. Sure I still go bright red, but it doesn't feel like the end of the world when I fall down in front of a roomful of people like it did that first day of classes in college. It probably didn't help that the water bottle I was carrying that time didn't have a cap on it and the water spilled all over the crotch of my jeans in my tumble. Still, it was an ice-breaker.

After finally getting my shit together, I head for the press room located adjacent to the locker rooms. I already know who I want to speak to and I have my questions ready. I know the kind of stuff I need from them, as I've already plotted out how I'm going to write the story. I still get a thrill from knowing this is actually my job, I really lucked out being able to do something I get so excited about.

I've met all the players and coach before, so the interviews are a breeze and fly by quickly. I'm out of the building and on my way to meet Alice my 9.30pm.

"Bella," I hear a familiar voice yell at me across the noise of the crowded bar.

We meet at Eclipse, one of our favourite hang outs. They mix great cocktails and it has plenty of great seats of people watching, which we just love to do. Alice likes to pick apart people's fashion choices, or squeal when she sees something she likes, but I like to play a little game of "what's their story". You can make up people's whole background story, whatever you want. It's great fun, particularly with couples in the middle of a heated row, you can make up the silliest reasons for their disagreement. Not that I enjoy other people being upset, it's just that in my experience, rows between couples in bars are often drunken idiocy. I do not know this from personal experience. My trials with the opposite sex have been few and far between, however I have lived vicariously through Alice and my university buddies, who got into the spirit of college life in the way I never did. Apparently guys aren't that keen on girls who dig sports. You would think they would love it, but from my experience being able to recite the full stats on the newest Yankee player is not such a desirable trait in women when compared with being able to tie a cherry stalk with your tongue or giggle inanely at some lame joke.

It's safe to say I am pretty cynical when it comes to guys. I had one serious relationship at university. His name was Tyler and things between us were great. We both liked sports, we both enjoyed going out with our friends and we both shared similar values when it came to family. We liked a lot of the same things, but we just didn't like each other enough. There was not enough spark and things fizzled out after a year. We still kept in touch though.

"Hey Alice," I say, plonking myself down on the seat next to her. "I deserve a big drink. I've got some totally amazing stuff from my interviews. The sports ed isn't gonna know what hit him."

"Alright, that's call for a celebration," she trills excitedly. Alice is my biggest cheerleader, even though she knows nothing about sports.

"So, how was 'the bitch' today?" I ask, my expression turning serious.

"Urgh, she's awful. If she didn't pay so much I would tell her to take a hike, but I need the money. She's a big tipper, even if she is a humungous bitch."

I laugh at that. "I still say you should pick her out the ugliest damn outfit you can find and tell her its super fierce and she'll be a fashion pioneer if she wears."

"I couldn't do that. It would be a crime against fashion. Being a personal shopper is like a huge responsibility, there is a bond of trust and respect between me and my client. I cannot allow them to walk away with anything but the best clothes I can find, if they are a stuck-up little bitch that desperately needs to eat a burger."

"I know, right!" I exclaim. "I saw her latest commercial, my good does she need to put on a few pounds. She's about to disappear altogether and that lollipop head is so not a good look."

Tanya Denali was Alice's biggest client, well, or smallest client depending on how you look at it. She was a model who had work perfume and clothing campaigns, as well as done catwalk. She breezed into Seattle every now and then to visit family and always got Alice to pick out a totally new wardrobe for her when she was here. This was promptly thrown out when she left Seattle for go jet-setting around the world again. Most women would kill for her wardrobe, though they would struggle to fit into it. Some of her size zeros had to be taken in a few notches.

"Tell me about it. I was helping Tanya try out underwear today and I could not believe my eyes. The girls ribs are like way prominent. I had to say something but she totally lost her head and started screaming at me to mind my own business. That is a coke problem if I ever saw one, she'll be in rehab in less than a year, mark my words."

"As long as you pick out her 'return to the spotlight' outfit afterwards!" I giggle. We laugh together then toast each other.

We have a great time and I end up stumbling back home way later than I wanted considering I have a busy day coming up.

I have the game to write up and then I'm off to the Bees' ice hockey stadium to watch practice and meet their new players. They are introducing a new guy to their roster and the sports ed wants me to do interviews with him for a profile as part of a bigger feature on the new season. Apparently he's a real hotshot, so I can't wait to see him and the others in action. Although it's not my favourite sport, I have a real soft spot for hockey. The violence of the game makes me cringe sometimes, but the way they glide around the ice is so graceful, even when they're doing it to smash another player against the boards. Maybe I'm jealous I don't have that kind of agility! I think I must have been a skater in another life or something

The next morning I'm up and raring to go at 6.30am, which surprises me considering my late night. I must really love my job!

At work I get straight down to business typing out last night's game and am so in the zone that I jump in surprise when a coffee cup lands on my desk.

"Morning sports fan, how's it going?" I look up to see the smiling face of Jacob Black, one of the photographers. He's been really great at welcoming me to the Seattle Tribune family.

"Hey Jake, thanks. You know I don't know what I'd do without you fetching coffee for me every day," I joke.

"Aw Bella, you'll never have to find out, I'll follow you anywhere," he banters back with that big warm smile on his face.

He really is a great guy, good looking too. He's wearing his long-sleeved black T-shirt today and black jeans teamed with big black boots. The shirt hugs his well-defined chest and big arms well, he looks hot. Shame I don't see him as anything other than a brother. He's made it pretty clear he would like more from me, even making a pass at me at the Christmas party. Something I was able to laugh off thankfully and have since pretended I was so drunk I couldn't remember anything that happened that night.

"So are you with me today," I ask, hoping he says yes. Jake is a great photographer and having him with me will help calm my nerves at meeting all these new people. I've never covered hockey since starting at the paper. One of the other sports reporters protected it with ferocity as it was their favourite, but they quit, leaving the rest of us on the sports team free to finally attend a few hockey games.

"Yep, I'm your guy. So when do you want to get going?" he asks.

"Just let me finish up this write up from last night and I'll be all set. Thanks for the coffee," I say.

We head out just after lunch. Jake drives, which I'm glad about as I have no idea how to reach the rink.

I'm excited and nervous at the same time. As we enter the building I take in a breath through my nose and smile at the familiar smell of the rink. I love the smell of ice. Must have something to do with Forks where snow and ice are pretty commonplace.

We flash our press passes to get down to the ice and I can hear the sound of blades moving over the ice when the door to the arena opens. The players are just doing laps, some are horsing around a little and elbowing each other out the way as they pass. There is some banter, the usual sports stuff. Jake and I find a seat to watch for a while.

Jake starts to unpack his stuff and is sizing up the place thinking about what he's going to shoot. It's a pretty easy gig for him today, we just need some headshots of the new player and a group shot of the team, possibly some of them practicing. Its me who the pressure is on.

I've already researched the stats on the new Bee, Edward Cullen. I know his background, where he played at high school then college and that he is extremely talented. The team was lucky to land him from what I gather as there was a lot of competition to sign him up and steal him away from Denver, where he's been their star player for the last two years.

I turn to my right and see a man striding over to us.

"Bella Swan?" he asks.

"Yes, that's me," I reply.

"Good to meet you," he says holding out his hand. I take it and we shake. "I'm Aro Volturi, head coach."

"Of course, great to meet you. Thanks for having us along today, I can't wait to meet the players. You guys have an exciting line up." I say, wanting to make a good impression.

"Glad you're enthusiastic. We're just starting warm ups right now, then we'll be practicing some plays. Why don't you sit and watch, then you can speak to the guys afterwards. I know you need Edward Cullen for a one-on-one, but I'll introduce you to everyone else while you're here."

"Thanks, that would be great," I smile appreciatively.

Watching the practice, it is obvious Edward is a talented player. Talented, but cocky, so cocky. He bosses the other players around like he owns the place, which to be fair from his prowess on the rink he pretty much does. Although his arrogance gets my back up, it doesn't seem to trouble the rest of the team. He makes sensible suggestions, albeit said in an abrupt and sometimes rude way, and the others follow his lead. He is a natural captain and he glides around the ice with a natural ability I have never seen before. I wish I could skate like that. I wish I could skate period.

I can't see Edward Cullen's face through his helmet, but he's wearing his Cullen jersey and his domineering voice makes him pretty hard to miss.

"Jackson get the hell up front, what are you doing waiting around like it's just gonna come to you," he yells.

I raise my eyebrow. This guy is bossy. My nerves triple then. What's he going to be like with me? If I ask a bad question will he yell at me to sort my research out? I straighten my spine and jut my chin forwards. I will not allow this ego-maniac to intimidate me. I am doing the job I love and I am good at it. He will not make me feel small.

Practice comes to an end and the guys gather for a final pep talk with the coach. I see him motioning towards me and they all turn to stare at where I am sitting. I turn red then, I hate the spotlight being on me. I just want to ask the questions and have the sports stars take the spotlight. I don't want any focus on me.

Jake has been snapping away on the other side of the rink, but returns to my side then.

"Did you get everything you needed from practice," I ask, trying to take my mind off the eyes on me.

"Yeah, I'm all set for the headshots now. Did you want to do the interviews and I could take a few then and set some posed shots up afterwards?"

"Sounds good," I say, knowing the time has come. I stand up, adjusting my bag on my shoulder and gripping my notepad hard.

We walk over to the gap in the barriers where the coach is standing and talking to his team.

"Everybody, this is Bella Swan, the sports reported from the Seattle Tribune, and this is Jacob Black, who you will have seen taking pictures," says Aro, introducing us to the group.

I raise one hand in a small wave. "Hey, it's great to be here, practice was awesome," I say lamely.

The team says a collective hi and I look around he faces, noticing Cullen's number is absent.

"I know you need to speak to Edward, he's just run to use the bathroom. He'll be right back."

I chat to Aro while Jake gets some shots of the rest of the time. Suddenly Edward reappears from behind Jake, putting his hands on Jake's shoulder.

"Hey man, you must be the reporter doing the profile on me huh," he says in a voice smooth as honey. God he's irritating. Why assume that the guy must be the reporter.

"Actually Edward, Jake is here to take the photographs only, Bella here is handling the reporting side of things," Aro explains.

"No shit," Edward says with a surprise look on his face, looking me up and down. A crooked grin appears on his face and my irritation cranks up a notch. Just who does this guy think he is?

"I'm Bella Swan," I say, holding out my hand and thinking of Charlie's words of reassurance in my head over and over again. It kind of works, but I am still gritting my teeth.

"So what happened, did you run out of shoes to write about of the features desk or something and they sent you out here for something a little different?"

"Actually I'm a sports reporter. I love shoes as much as the next girl but all this testosterone is just such a thrill to witness up close that I can't keep away from it. It's a way bigger high than shopping could ever be," I say, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice and make it sound more sarcastic.

The rest of the team laughs and pokes fun at their team mate. That wiped the smirk off his face, good. Now we can get on with this interview so I can get out of here.

As I study him up close I am struck by his good looks. He is an extremely attractive man, with full lips, flawless pale skin and bright copper hair that is stuck to his forehead with sweat. His green eyes are blazing with annoyance at me for having made fun of him in front of his team. Well, maybe he should have thought of that before opening his stupid sexist mouth.

"I have a few questions to ask you if that's okay Mr Cullen," I ask, wanting to change the subject and get back to being professional.

"By all means, fire away Miss Swan," he says in a tight voice.

I go through my list of questions about his background and what his hopes are with the new team. The others are being photographed by Jake, while Aro is listening in subtly on my conversation with Edward.

His answers are short at first, but he soon loosens up a little and gets in the flow of talking to me. He sure is an arrogant fucker, but he seems to have the skills to back it up and he knows what he is talking about when it comes to the game and what is needed to win it. He's also very complimentary of his team mates, which slightly redeems him in my eyes, however I still think the guy is a grade A asshole.

"So Coach Volturi," I say, turning towards Aro. "How do you think Edward's presence will help the team?"

The coach takes a step closer and starts singing the praises of his star player.

"But do you think these stars can sometimes get a little too involved in the rock 'n' roll aspect of the sport, what with all the adoration and attention they get, and lose the team spirit and good sportsman attitude they need to make the team great?" I ask in a barely masked dig at Edward's attitude. He is still standing there and his eyes widen. He knows I'm talking about him.

Aro laughs. "Well I like to think we teach our players a good attitude as well as the skills needed to play a great game," he says. "But you just let me know if they get a little too wild."

"I will do coach, thanks for your time," I say offering my hand to his. He shakes it and gives me a warm smile. I turn to Edward then. "It was good to meet you," I say politely, also offering my hand. He stares at it like I'm diseased or something then begrudgingly takes hold of my hand. An electric current shoots through me at the contact and I have to will myself not to jump or move closer to him to increase the contact. I shake myself internally. Where the hell did that come from? He drops my hand.

"Miss Swan, for your sake I hope I like what you write about the team, because otherwise there's not a damn chance anyone here will be talking to you again," he says defiantly, his mesmerising green eyes never leaving mine. Wait, did I say mesmerising? No way, they're just eyes and they're green. It just so happens to be my favourite colour, which is why I think they're fascinating. It's just a shame the guy the eyeballs are attached to is such a jerk.

"I can assure you Mr Cullen I get no complaints from any of the other Seattle sports teams," I say through gritted teeth.

He turns on his heel then and walks away. I look down at the ground and collect myself, before saying my goodbyes to the other players and leaving with Jake.

At home that night I continue to fume over the exchange and wish I had stood up to him more, though if I did that I would definitely not be allowed back to the arena.

Going over the conversation again and again I became more outraged. That was the night I realised I hate Edward Cullen.


End file.
